Soft as Candlelight
by Chanson d'Obscurite
Summary: A girl the Phantom had never looked at twice had suddenly captured his attention. Rating subject to change. The summary sucks, I know. EOW.


Cheynelle shook the dark curls out of her face and pouted. She was getting too worked up, she knew, but she couldn't help it. She loved music lessons better than anything else, particularly the girl's voice trainings. They were the highlight of her week. And now, since she couldn't get her voice straight, she would get stuck on back chorus for another production. She couldn't let that happen. The girl took a deep breath and tried again.

"Angel of Music,

Stay beside me

Angel of Music

Keep and guide me

Stay evermore

An-**_gel_**!"

She had forced all her energy and concentration into that one note, but it seemed to be worth it. Everyone stopped to stare in amazement at the little girl. Cheynelle smiled, though blushing, and murmured into her chin that it really was nothing.

"Non, mon cherie." The ten year old looked up at her teacher. "Your voice is a gift. You must cherish it," Madame Jacques continued. "You have the ability to become a prima singer, child."

_A prima singer. _ The words floated through the little one's head as she washed and prepared for bed. She ignored the mindless chatter and gossip of the girls as she lie on her cot and dropped off into a dream.

_She was a famous vocalist, having replaced Carlotta as the Opera Populaire's lead long ago. She had just finished a performance and was being cheered no end. She had many fans and admirers who adored her and their roses were thrown at her feet. "Cheynelle!" "Cheynelle!" "Cheynelle!" Someone started shaking her roughly through the chants. "Cheynelle!"_

Groggily she opened her eyes and found Madame Giry, the ballet mistress, standing over her bedside. "Wake up! You are late; you will never be a prima ballerina if you care so little," she scolded. "Yes, ma'am," the little girl said quietly, though she was thinking something completely different. "I don't want to be a ballerina! I know I can sing!" Those were the thoughts running through her head. But she didn't dare speak them aloud.

That night, as all the other girls were sleeping soundly after a hard day of ballet practice, Cheynelle slipped out of bed. After swiveling her head to check for people who might see her, she ducked out the room into the maze of corridors and soon had left the building.

Walking down the dark Parisian streets was frightening, especially for a girl of that age, but Cheynelle was used to it. She went out like this once a week, varying the days so no one would notice a pattern. She entered a little street behind the Opera House and went into the one shop with light emitting from under its doors. Quickly selecting the items from her memorized list, she placed them on the counter and took several francs out of her pocket to pay. She chose this store, not for the prices, but for the fact that no one asked her why such a little girl was out so late. The clerk gave her the change, and she thanked him and quickly left.

"Up, up, up! Cheynelle, you really must learn to wake yourself in the morning, and not make your friends do it for you! Out of bed, **now**!" Cheynelle opened her eyes to find sunlight streaming in through the cracked window pane. She propped herself up on one arm, trying to see where everyone was. Most of the girls were gone, but her sort-of friend, Laramie, was standing over her, half dressed and in a hurry.

"I'm sorry," Cheynelle murmured, chagrined into silence. She quickly rushed into her warm-up leotard. She was almost finished dressing when Lara looked over and sighed.

"Really, you are quite out of it today! We are rehearsing Hannibal today; have you forgotten?"

"It's not my fault!" Cheynelle pouted again. She _had_ forgotten. She'd been so absent-minded lately! She quickly pulled her dress on and left the room.

"From the slaaaaaviiiiiiiinng force

Oooooooffffffff mmmaaaaaaaaaannnn!"

Cheynelle listened to the famous prima's singing as the other young dancers collapsed in a collective fit of giggles. True, La Carlotta's voice was not as beautiful as it once was, but she was still one of the most famous singers in Europe. She rolled her eyes at her peers and commenced with singing the notes under her breath.

The program, and her practice, was interrupted when Monsieur Lefarve walked in, introducing two people she had never met before but were to be their new managers, effective immediately. The two men, Firmin and Andre, in turn introduced a young man with long blonde hair. Personally, Cheynelle found him quite unattractive, but the older chorus girls were quite excited about something. They were giggling and flipping their hair and generally acting annoying.

The men stayed for rehearsals, which went fairly well, considering. However, that ended, as the managers said something to Carlotta and she had a fit. Nothing unusual, but the managers were unaccustomed to her and had no idea how to handle it. The icing on the cake was when Carlotta was singing a gratuity performance for Firmin and Andre, and a set piece fell on top of her.

"Goodbye! And chow! I'm really leaving! Now you see me, now you don't..." Carlotta stormed out of the Opera Populaire in a fit of rage.

"Good riddance," was the phrase on everyone's lips but the managers as they watched her leave. No one liked her, not even the chorus master.

"We shall have to refund a full house!" Firmin was saying. The entire stage was shocked. They_ never_ cancelled a performance, never! They would have relearn it entirely by the time Carlotta got back! Cheynelle groaned. She would never be cast in the chorus now! The diva would completely run things, just like before, but worse. None of the ballet rats's careers would ever progress. The Italian superstar would make sure of that.

The little dancer-in-training was jerked out of her reverie by the words of Madame Giry. "Christine Daae could sing it, sir." Immediately all the heads in the auditorium swung over in that direction.

"But a chorus girl? Very silly," Andre scoffed.

"Let her sing for you monsieur. She has been well taught," the ballet mistress said adamantly.

"Fine," the managers agreed. Cheynelle watched, mouth agape, as the older girl took Carlotta's song and mastered it; made it her own.

That night as the nine and ten year olds hopped into their beds, they chattered about the virtually phenomenal performance Christine Daae gave earlier that evening. They were so busy gossiping they wouldn't know if the building was in flames unless they themselves burned to a crisp. Since her bed was in a corner near the door, and if she timed herself right, Cheynelle could slip out unnoticed. It didn't hurt that she was small for her age, rather short and thin. Her bright green eyes shone with excitement and fear as she walked the familiar corridors, hoping no one would notice her.

She was in the ballerina's hall, the floor devoted to the fifteen through nineteen year old dancers. She had just reached the end of the hall where she usually left the packages when she heard a voice, deep, male, and alluring, speak from the inside of a room. Cheynelle stopped, knowing she should leave, but too curious to go back to the dormitories yet.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor sharing in my triumph!"

"Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen," said a voice the young dancer recognized as Christine Daae's. "Stay by my side, guide me."

Cheynelle retreated into the shadows when she saw a young man she recognized as the one the managers had introduced that afternoon, the Viscount de Chagny. However, this change of position put her in the perfect place. She could see and hear everything that was going on, and no one looked her way.

The Viscount rattled the locked doorknob. Apparently he had heard the voice as well, for he suddenly exclaimed, "Whose is that voice? Who is that in there?" The singing coming from the other side of the wall did not stop when he said that but a few minutes later the music ceased abruptly and the blonde man left the hall. Cheynelle threw down the packages, suddenly frightened, and rushed back to the room, not caring who saw.

The next day the whole Opera House was in an uproar. Christine Daae had disappeared, and several threatening notes were left for the more important members of the Opera family. Cheynelle wasn't much affected by this news; she was worried for the girl but Madame Giry took care not to disrupt the little one's usual schedule. No, she was worried about her career. She knew she was young to do the


End file.
